


Out of the Woods

by OpaqueXApathy



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don and Boyd survive the War, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fury (2014) - Freeform, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Mentions of War, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Content, blatant ignorance of canon deaths, my tags are the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpaqueXApathy/pseuds/OpaqueXApathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don and Boyd have survived the war, just them, only each other. Which is exactly what they have left when the darkness comes, the midnight hour brings back the ghosts of the past, and Boyd can't escape his inner torments. But Don is there steadfast as always, looking after the one crewman he has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this movie and it absolutely took my breath away. I walked in not expecting slash or bromance (despite a warning from my wife) annnnnd I walked out an emotional mess. So I absolutely had to write SOMETHING and more will probably be in the works. I really don't know how popular this will be but if you're reading this, and you enjoy this, I'm happy. I've always sailed on the rare pairings ship before and it never bothered me. I'm just happy to express the incredible depth of feels I endured for two straight hours (twice) when I watched this movie. Comments are appreciated and adored. <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr! -- http://fking-gold-trans-am.tumblr.com/

 

 

Don knew as soon as his feet reached the top stairs of the main staircase that it was a bad night for Boyd.

Their individual respective psychiatrists called it a relatively new term ‘post traumatic stress disorder’ but Don had seen Boyd go through this before the war ended and all through their history together since. It had only happened a handful of times but it had happened enough that Don knew well to recognize it now and how to approach it. And by now he practically had it down to a science.

The music that greeted him where he stood at the top of the stairs was coming from the billiard room and library. Not exactly melancholy but he suspected the tone of the songs didn’t exactly matter. It was whatever record Boyd would grab to put in the record player and probably without paying too much attention. There was easily a whole library of records he could go through in a single night but Don never let it go on that long. Usually he waited until he was mostly through a bottle of liquor, steadfastly supervising from a respective distance, and then made the move to intervene.

The man felt so much. He cared so impossibly much.

It was what had drawn Don to him from the beginning. Boyd was an impossibly caring soul. And there didn’t seem to be a limit to which his heart could care for another human being. Even a complete stranger. More than that it seemed to be an uncontrollable reflex for the man. To reach out, to try and help in whatever capacity he could. He felt with such a shaking, bone rattling depth and it was entirely out of his control.

It was such a large facet of the man that made him inexplicably beautiful.

Don had watched from the end of World War I and all through World War II men enter with fixed personalities and ideals and concepts of right and wrong only to have them shattered and leave shadows of their former selves. But Boyd had remained compassionate. Even though just as hardened and broken from the war as the rest of them he’d still retained the unknowing impulse to reach out to anyone in need. Without a seconds hesitation or thought and without a single consideration to himself later and that had never changed despite the hell they’d endured, witnessed, and took part in personally.

All through the war he’d never once stopped to walk through a battlefield after a fight to give comfort to the dying or help the wounded. And after a particularly long night, and they usually were, or on an especially bad one Don would find Boyd like this in some capacity. But on the worst of nights and if they had the luxury of liquor and the time to drown themselves in their own demons, Don would find him like this instead. Completely lost in his own personal pain, contemplating the very darkness of it, inescapably drowning.

He felt so damn much and he couldn’t even help it. And there came a time when that darkness turned on him and all those feelings, the backlash of such a giving heart, would find him. And there was no escaping it. It happened eventually and it did always happen.

Boyd’s caring heart was unquestionably the double edged sword that led him to these bouts of depression. And it was in such a cruel way. Bible could relieve anyone’s suffering. He was never at a loss for a word, a gesture, he was always at the front lines going through the bodies and the survivors during the war. Don didn’t blame the man, how could he when it was entirely out of his control, but it never stopped to break his heart just a little what the end result always was. The unfair cruel backlash he had to endure. Don would never really never admit to just how much.

Because at the end of the night, when the bodies had been sorted, prayers had been given and Boyd was there to remind them of the humanity they still had who was there to do the same for Boyd?

Don’s steps were quiet and measured as he headed to the library. Sure enough there Boyd was, a bottle of liquor at his feet, records scattered all over the floor, the man sitting on a bar stool and looking as despondent and depressed as Don had ever seen him - staring into space, eyes red but rather from a lack of blinking than crying. If the sole tear track on the side of his face quickly drying was any indication. He was completely lost in his own pain, unable to escape it. The only thing he could do was sit there and endure it until dawn.

And it was a testament to the strength of his character that he endured it at all and came out on the other side when a pain this soul deep could easily be the permanent end to any lesser man.

Don leaned against the doorway, took out a cigarette and smoked while he waited. The first time Don had ever found him like this, he’d done the same thing and every incident thereafter. He’d known his gunner well enough by then to know that his help might not have been readily welcomed. As he’d drank, Boyd had given him long and hard, challenging looks over the bottle. Daring him to come in and say anything. To ask him what was wrong, to talk or to tell him to get over it. Don hadn’t done anything even resembling that.

One, he knew there wasn’t anything he could possibly tell him to make it better. Get over it? Not ever. They’d never be able to even fathom a third of the shit they’d seen and endured. Tough it out? That in and of itself was as stupid as suggesting they just forget all the shit they’d seen, the acts they’d committed, and what they’d endured. And secondly, what was there to possibly talk about? The dead soldiers, the Nazis, the blood and the guts, the hell, and the war? How could talking about any of that even remotely make it better?

No. Don waited it out.

He waited until Bible was mostly through a bottle of liquor, and damn did they guy have a shocking tolerance for the stuff, before he made a move. Boyd was far more receptive and too tired to argue or fight him at that point. To tell him gruffly that he was fine, that he’d be all right in the morning. Any of the forced out half replies he’d give to anyone else. Not like Don would take any other answer.

Don never took his eyes off of him when he was like this. He smoked and waited, taking his time, watching from a respectful distance. Enough to give the man space but plenty close enough that Boyd was aware of his presence. That he wasn’t alone anymore. To make the night seem less desolate.

Each cigarette he finished he dropped it to the floor and put it out with his boot. And then he’d take out another and start the whole process over again. Watching, smoking, and waiting.

  
By the time Boyd was nearly finished with the liquor bottle, a particularly strong brand of malt scotch, the uncoordinated way he almost dropped the whole thing to the floor told Don it was time to intervene at last. Three cigarettes later, nearly an hour and a half of waiting and watching, and he figured Boyd wouldn’t stop him. He’d never been wrong before.

Don took one final, short drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the floor, putting it out with his boot, exhaling the smoke slowly through his mouth and nose - not taking his eyes off Boyd for a second.

A tear slipped down the side of the man’s face but his stare was still vacant against the opposite wall. Don could see all the cracks. He could see how close he was to breaking. But he also knew that he needed to break. Just a little. Release some of the poison from his wounds, the torment, the darkness and the pain. Even if just to remind him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering. For someone to finally extend some comfort his way. That after years and years of giving and fighting and killing himself for a cause that someone else would do the same for him.  
And Don would. In a heartbeat.

There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t have done for his men. And in the end it hadn’t been enough. He’d only gotten one person through the day they’d taken an S.S. Battalion head on to save a supply detail. And that was Boyd. Now he was the only one left, the only one for Don to look after, the only part of his crew he had to keep alive. Somewhere early on in their friendship those feelings had taken a turn. He’d never thought that their relationship could have lasted after the war but after dawn had come that day and it had only been them left alive in Fury he hadn’t been able to let the man out of his sight. Luckily, the feelings had been mutual.

All they had left were each other. Each other and the ghosts of memories that they walked like ghosts themselves. Doomed to repeat patterns and walk through shards of a past filled with a kind of hell few could fathom.

So Don did that now. Like he would and for the rest of his days, however much Boyd needed this. He’d walk through repeating patterns, like the first time, like the second, and like the last just before the war had ended. In a hospital with only each other. Their comrades left behind lifeless in Fury.

It was pretty hard not to get lost back in time to every moment Don had had to intervene in Boyd’s own personal hell with each step he took into the room.

There was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, resting on his bottom lip. Boyd hadn’t been paying much attention to it and Don took that first, gently, watching the man close. His eyes never left him, his gunner’s eyes still focused hard on the wall in front of him. But Don knew Boyd was aware of him. He was starting to crumble already, just on the edges, something anyone who didn’t know him nearly as well would have missed. He needed the contact whether he could reach out for it or not.

Don leaned down and took the bottle from him next, Boyd’s fingers nonresistant as they let it out of their shallow grip. Don moved it near to the back of the chair, out of the way and then reached for Boyd next. His hands found his arms and Boyd was nearly listlessly limp in his grip. There was barely any resistance as he lifted and Don’s heart ached. It was a wonder he wasn’t completely catatonic.

“Up.” he whispered, reminding him gently, coaxing him mostly with his hands. He had to do most of the work himself but Boyd let himself be lifted and that was all Don asked.

Bringing him close to his body, Don slipped an arm around his back and pressed his hand just above his hips against the small of his spine. The other he wrapped around his shoulders from the other side, stepping further into the embrace and closing the last inch to spare between them until they were completely touching from toe to toe. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, hips to hips.

Don kept his grip firm and unyielding but not smothering and it didn’t take long for Boyd’s hands to slowly find his shoulders from behind. Don felt the warmth of his palms against his back, took note that they felt a little feverish. Tilting his head close he thought he heard his gunner make a noise in the back on his throat. It sounded unspeakably lost but hopeful and Don’s heart skipped a beat, reaching up and put a hand to the back of Bible’s head and then he did something they’d never had a chance to do during the war.

Taking the lead position, coaxing Boyd’s hand into his as the melodic crooning of a female singer he didn’t recognize came over the record player, Don slowly moved them back and forth into an easy rhythm. Bible went willing, grasping his hand in his and leaning back to give him a look like he was trying to figure him out. Maybe daring him to crack a joke about how they were dancing, how Don had taken the lead, but nothing came out. And Don just smiled at him, maybe he couldn’t help if it was a bit sad. They should have done this a long time ago. If only they’d been able.

Boyd’s body felt perfect against his. Solid, right. His hand was warm and they weren’t all that coordinated but with something as simple as this it was perfect.

Don’s smile faded seeing the more than slightly broken look in his gunner’s eyes, giving his hand a squeeze and pressing the hand he had on the small of his back gently. “C’mere.”

Boyd took let out a shuddering, slight breath and Don saw a glimpse of tears in his eyes before the former gunner leaned forward and rested his head on his shoulder. Don let out a breath that was partially relief. Relief at having him close. Having him safe in his arms. The darkness never looked the same after the war but with each other it was at least something that they could face.

The music was slow and easy and Don let it take them. He closed his eyes, felt Boyd’s grip on him tighten just a bit, the man pressing closer still. Don willed him to take and accept all the strength he had to give and he was offering. Willing him to know that he wasn’t alone and that Don was here now. That there was nothing he ever had to go through alone ever again if he didn’t want. Don would be there. Even if the monsters turned out to be just trees.

When the song ended and Don well and sensed that Boyd was too exhausted to stay on his feet, barely conscious now actually from the booze and the gentle swaying motion of their bodies and what constituted as their first dance, he made a quick decision. Instead of avoiding the long and uncoordinated walk up stairs, he leaned down and picked him up instead, grasping hold of an arm and leg and lifting with his knees so that the former tank gunner was almost draped over one of his shoulders and back.

He’d carried a kid like this out of the battlefield. Difference being that kid hadn’t had a leg. Needless to say it made it easier to hold onto Boyd now that he had two.

All Boyd did really was groan a bit but not exactly in protest. He was sure all the blood swimming around in his head was making it hurt due to the healthy amount of liquor he’d drank. He was going to have a hangover to write home about in the morning that was for certain. But they’d deal with that too when dawn came with the comforting cold rays of winter sunshine. A winter spent in a house with good food, a warm fire and no Nazis at the door ready to take them straight back to hell.

Don would admit without arrogance that he’d aged well. But he still had moments that reminded him that he was fifty. His knees protested to the weight of the man on his shoulders as he ascended the stairs, making their age known, and even his back added to the protestations. Don set his jaw and continued with determination. He really hadn’t thought Boyd was this heavy but he was a solid, full grown man. And something warmly stirred in his gut at the thought despite the situation. Don had just never been into the dames.

Reaching their bedroom, the master suite on the second floor of the small but sprawling estate house in West Sussex, Don walked through the open doorway. The sounds of his boots on the wooden floor the only noise besides the small breaths in his ear from the man well and passed out now in his grip. Don nevertheless kept his grip firm but not hard. Especially as he put a knee to the bed, reached up to support Boyd’s head in a hand, and put a hand on his back as he carefully lowered him down to the plush surface of the bed covers, linen and pillows.

Unaccustomed to not having something so comfortable to sleep on they’d removed all but one of the mattresses to spare the feeling of being eaten alive. The first week home they’d even slept on the floor out of the unfamiliarity of actually having a bed at all to sleep in at night. It was amazing at all they had this. And each other.

Don watched Boyd sleep a moment, smiling a bit, resting a hand on his stomach and just feeling him breathe. He was safe. Boyd was alive and safe and they’d chase away the demons until dawn. Everything else after they’d face with the same amount of determination and fortitude during the war.

Reluctantly withdrawing his hand, Don reached down for his high collared long sleeved shirt and pulled it off, ginger as always of his back. The scars were the lingering effects of napalm and were prone to all sorts of infections. Even the brush of clothing could be enough to set his teeth on edge. Not from pain but from a grating, impossible to explain feeling from his ruined nerves.

He looked down at the only person he’d ever bared himself intimately to since the napalm, letting his shirt drop to the floor as his hands found his belt. Boyd wasn’t sleeping and if he had been before he hadn’t been sleeping long. He was watching him now through hooded eyelids, barely breathing, expression placid. But Don could see the desire in his eyes, the yearning that was mutually shared.

There were other ways to chase off demons and ward off ghosts until dawn. Ways that didn’t involve feeling and only required losing themselves in each other until they didn’t have the energy to fight sleep. Exhausting themselves and hopefully chasing away the all too frequent nightmares too.

Boyd reached out and his hand brushed over his chest, his hands less callused from the war but still hard from overuse - maybe as if to assure himself that Don was really real, here now. Either way it made Don’s breath catch and he stood to remove his pants. The motion of him standing, leaving the bed, and just what he was doing spurred Bible into action too. He reached quickly for the clothes he had on and Don watched as he made quick work of them. Watched as he pushed his pants down around his hips and let his boxers go with them, Don doing the same to his own and kicking them off with his boots. He then reached down to help Boyd with his, deftly unlacing them and pulling them off his feet.

Their clothes now in a pile on the floor and nothing separating them but cool air, Don’s eyes swept over Bible, wasting no time to join him on the bed. He laid down on top of him, skin meeting skin, Boyd’s legs opening to make room for him between. Half hard erections met with no barriers and Don groaned, eyes flickering from Boyd’s eyes to his lips as he leaned down and captured the man’s mouth with his own.

He’d never forget the taste.

The first time had practically knocked him right on his ass. Don had never been interested in women. He’d tried fooling around with a few but it had done absolutely nothing for him. His father, a doctor, had made excuses that he was impotent. Hadn’t done well for his reputation and maybe he’d even believed it too. But then boys started getting his attention.

Don had done a few things in the war, gone pretty far, but he’d never let himself be touched by another man or kissed. And he’d never taken big risks.

He’d never forget just him and Boyd in the Fury. One of the hatches was open, they were running through a daily plan for the next day in the light of the setting sun and the next town they’d meet for new orders. They’d been leaning close over a map and Don didn’t exactly remember what happened but suddenly their eyes connected and time just seemed to stop and everything fell away but each other. They’d been dancing around each other with those looks for a few months before but this one was sudden and soul shaking.

Boyd had made the first move, Don would never forget it, he’d probably been too shocked to do anything. The feeling of his mustache against his cleanly shaken face was so foreign and overwhelming that he almost missed the feeling of his lips. But that came right after, warm and supple against his own and Don’s light gasp in response and the way his mouth automatically parted to receive his gunner was like stars exploding, the world shifting. Don had kissed a woman once and he’d hated it. Kissing Boyd was everything. Strength, heat, pure intense feeling. Raw. The wet heat of him had been electric.

It was no different since and it had never quit being intense. It was like the ways their eyes had a tendency to automatically find each other and connect. They grabbed Don and were impossible to look away from. In the war he hadn’t been able to help it. Despite being surrounded by the whole damn army when those soulful brown eyes met his the depth just grabbed him and refused to let him go. In an instant he was drowning in the best way, willingly trapped.

Don let the past fall away, pressing his body closer to Boyd’s and thrusting his tongue into the man’s mouth. He wasn’t usually so forward. Like the man beneath him he often liked to take things slow. Let the intensity of the passion between them wash over them in waves and take them under. They weren’t ones to rush. But Bible opened up to him like a man desperate and dying of thirst. He groaned low in his throat and his hands reached out to carefully grasp his shoulders and then much more firmly, his upper arms.

And then his hands found his ass and just like that Don went from half hard to completely erect, letting out a gasp and pressing his face into his neck, thrusting his hips into Boyd’s, letting the evidence of their arousal press together. The feeling of his hardening erection against his was almost too much.

Don quickly reached out to the bedside drawer and grabbed the oil they kept there, finding it quickly in the second drawer. Dropping it to the side of the bed he returned to his gunner’s mouth, delving in deep and taking in the taste of him. The heat, pure man, raw, liquor on his tongue and the faint taste of cigarettes. He took his time and Boyd let him, making needy noises in the back of his throat that border lined on desperate. He put a hand to the back of Don’s neck, thrusting his tongue into Don’s, the hot slide of his tongue against his pure fire that went straight to Don’s loins.

When he finished with his mouth, for the moment, Don reached for the lube and unscrewed the cap. The strong scent of peppermint hit them both and he poured a generous amount on his fingers, looking back to Boyd as he set the bottle aside on the nightstand. Grunting a bit as he re-positioned himself, Bible opening his legs to give him more room - hands finding his hips, Don’s eyes never left Boyd’s as he reached between them and pressed his fingers to the other man’s entrance, circling around the tight muscle before pressing a finger inside.

Boyd’s chest heaved with a gasping breath, and he groaned, eyes dilated with lust - breath catching and then coming in quicker gasps. Don groaned in concentrated pleasure, working the finger inside and massaging Bible’s tight passage, overcome by the feeling. Tighter than any woman possibly could be, probably hotter, there was nothing like it in the world. Nothing like the strength of the grip around his finger, pulling him in, nothing like the strength of the body beneath him surrendering control and admitting entrance.

Don’s cock ached to be inside him and when he felt like Boyd was ready, he carefully eased another finger inside. Bible’s breath caught but he was anything if not determined, their eyes never breaking contact as he willed his lower half to relax.

“Easy.” Don murmured in a low rumble, resting his other hand on Bible’s flat stomach, feeling the taught muscle just under the skin.

But with the second finger along the first, stretching and massaging and gradually pushing in deeper something seemed to give and Boyd suddenly relaxed much more than before. He let out a breath and his head fell back to the pillow behind him, Don’s hand moving to grip one of his hips. The very feeling and the sight of the man beneath him was all but too much and he eased a third in, the groan Bible giving threatening to completely undo him altogether. It was loud, full of need, spoke of a passion and pleasure Don could grasp. He’d felt it. Felt Boyd push deep into him time and time again, the length of his passion buried to the hilt inside of him. They took each other equally. Desperate to show each other’s love in all ways possible.

Don’s heart swelled with love for the man beneath him and Boyd’s eyes met his and he seemed to understand, a depth in them breaking just a bit, looking close to tears for a second before he blinked. But it did nothing to clear his gaze and a moment passed between them that didn’t need words.

Removing his fingers carefully, Don used the slick on them to coat his own erection a bit, breathlessly groaning at the feeling. But it was going to be nothing compared to what was about to come next.

Lining himself up at Boyd’s entrance, Don glanced up, caught Bible give him a sure nod and then pressed his hips carefully forward with even pressure. It didn’t take but a second of resistance for him to slip inside. Both men groaned, breathlessly, the sound echoing in the darkness of the room. But Don could see him. Splayed beneath him, eyes blown with pleasure, mouth parted wide and his lover’s expression that of pure unbridled pleasure. And love. So much love it was staggering.

Don leaned down on his elbows and thrust steadily inside. He was prepared well enough that there was barely any resistance and soon he was deep within, the weight of his already tightened balls pressed firmly to a taut behind. Boyd had been releasing shuddering, breathy groans as he worked inside, Don sharing them but they both fell silent for a second when he was finally buried deep. Don let his head fall to Boyd’s shoulder and Boyd grasped a hold of his arms, lifting his head to look between them before releasing a long groan and letting his head fall back.

And then Don felt a hand at the back of his neck, firmly gripping in a loving grasp and he lifted his head. Bible’s lips were waiting for him and as they touched, met, Don started to move. He kept the thrusts deep, couldn’t bare to pull out any further to make them longer. He didn’t want to be separated from him for the scant seconds that would add until he was buried deep again. He couldn’t bare the distance, grasping the bed covers beneath them as he thrust shortly, deeply, pressing in firmly, listening to Boyd’s cries beneath him which were steadily rising in volume. The man was if nothing if not vocal in bed.

It had completely floored Don the first time they’d well and truly been alone. In an old abandoned German house that had probably been a wealthy estate at one time, they’d taken advantage of their limited time alone with a whirlwind of passion and frenzied love making that had led to a dusty and ill kept master bedroom on the first floor. The only time they’d ever taken things quickly.

Don would never forget the loud cries, the incredible noises of pure raw passion, the feeling in every single shout, gasp, moan and groan. Boyd felt with absolutely no filter. And he’d cried out his passion into the room with noises that could break a man. And he’d all but done just that to Don, coming alive like something wild and taking with him a love that Don couldn’t even fathom the depths. They had a love of the ages. He knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

The images provoked a shudder of pleasure from Don so deep that it nearly completely drove him over the edge and he groaned loudly, Boyd’s steady cries of ‘fuck’ echoing loudly in the room. He was close too. He was right on the edge and so was Don and there was no way they were going to last much longer.

And just when Boyd’s cries became loud, recognizably near to falling off the edge, the precipice of pleasure - that was when Don felt himself nearly lose it too. He didn’t spare a hand, Boyd didn’t need it, focusing on thrusting into him hard and fast and deep and with all the intensity in his heart. Which was an unfathomable amount. He felt the head of his erection nudging against something firm repeatedly and Boyd’s cries were now constant. And then he heard Boyd call his name, followed by a warmth against his stomach and chest and he was completely lost.

Don lifted his head just to watch him come apart, his own vision swimming, groaning out his immense pleasure as his cock erupted inside Bible. He thrust in deep and held it there, the sudden slickness almost eliminating any friction and felt as if his very soul, bones and all, were being poured out of his body. He groaned, gasped, and shook, Boyd’s own erection hotly erupting with a few more spurts against his stomach and chest.

Completely breathless, Don rested his head against Boyd’s. The man was still making high, keening sounds of pleasure as he came down and the grip on his neck was bruising. Don knew there would be marks on his arms and that was all right. They were marks he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding anymore and he wore them as proudly as any medal he’d ever received. One of the greatest discoveries to making love to a man was the marks, the ability to bruise and wear them on their skin. The evidence of the strength. It was primal.

Boyd fell quiet, only their gasping rising and falls of their chests as they caught their breaths the sound in the room. Don nuzzled his face against Boyd’s, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck, and he felt a hand against the side of his face. Raising his head, he leaned into it, closing his eyes for a moment and enjoying the supple, gentle strength.

“Oh Don...” Boyd said, voice filled with enough emotion to break a man. “I love you.”

Don groaned and caught his lips with his own, the shift of his body causing his oversensitive and softening erection to jerk inside the slick tightness of his lover, wrenching a moan from Boyd into his mouth that sent shivers straight down his spine.

Don pressed his lips to the side of Boyd’s face, tasting tears, and then down to the junction of his neck just below his ear. “I love you too.” he whispered. “I love you...” he swallowed around a sudden swell of emotions so great, he felt a hot wetness in his eyes. “More than any man could possibly love another.” and he wished that could somehow express just a fraction of what he felt. There was no possible way one man could love another soul more than this. None.

And just like that, the cracks of Boyd’s few and crumbling walls collapsed. On top of the emotional turmoil, the depth of his previous despair, and near emotional break down he’d had earlier Boyd’s breath caught and he gave a quiet sob. Don clutched him close, urging the man’s head into his neck as he leaned down and took him into his arms, his heart breaking for his lover. Boyd came apart and went willingly, crying softly into his embrace in hitched, quiet cries. Don felt the hot, wet tears against his neck and as softly as he dared soothingly shushed him, stroking his hair back and lending him all the strength he had to give. It was all and more that Boyd would do and had done for him in an instant.

Don held him for what felt like only a small stretch of time before he started to quiet, Don nuzzling his face against his, pressing kisses to the side of his face and tasting tears, whispering murmured assurances that he was with him, he had him, and that it would pass. That it would be okay. Something he could actually speak honestly about now.

And while he’d thought it had only been a small stretch of time it must have been longer than that. The room had cooled, only the heat of each other on top of the bed keeping them warm. And the sun was just starting to make its appearances over the trees of the serene English countryside.

“Look at that.” Don murmured, Boyd’s eyes finding the window too and the light of day. “Out of the woods now, Bible.”

“Yes, sir.” Boyd agreed, voice thick with emotion but he made a good effort to make it steady. And it was.

Don leaned down and met his lips with his.

 

~FIN~


End file.
